


Hope you don't mind

by haroldslouis



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haroldslouis/pseuds/haroldslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, sorry, man,” the guy says, giving him a quick grin. “Thought you were someone else.” He taps the visor of Patrick’s snapback and just like that, he turns around and disappears into the crowd. </p><p>Patrick doesn’t know how long he stands there, just looking at the general direction he disappeared in. </p><p>
  <strong>or, 5 times Jonny mistook Patrick for someone else + 1 time he definitely didn't</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope you don't mind

**Author's Note:**

> This work is the result of a procrastinating University student who should be studying for her finals. No beta, so any mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> ps. i regret nothing

**5 times jonny mistook patrick for someone else + 1 time he definitely didn’t**

 

i.

Patrick’s waving at the back of his parents’ car, watching as it turns around the corner and disappears from his sight. He hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder, nearly knocking his snapback and his glasses askew. All around him freshmen are walking around, backs bended underneath bags and suitcases, many of them squinting at a map of the campus.

He follows the direction most of the crowd is going to, hoping that it will lead him to the registration building. His bag is heavy, filled up with clothes, soccer gear, and the picture frames his sisters ordered him to bring with. Jessie had pushed the largest frame into the bag, and one of the corners is currently stabbing him in his lower back with every step.

A girl in a bright blue polo comes towards him, her ponytail whipping from side to side. “Hi, there!” she beams, “Freshman?”

Patrick nods, “Yeah.”

“Are you looking for the registration building? I can walk you there, if you want?”

Patrick gives her a thankful smile. “That’d be awesome. You work here?” he asks, hoisting his bag up a little higher.

That question sets the girl, Beth, apparently, off on a speech about student counselling, her third year at the University, and which fraternities are the best ones to join if he’s looking for that kind of thing. Patrick listens half-heartedly, distracted by all the people around him. Even though most of them look like freshmen as well, they’re all cluttered together in groups already. And here he is, obviously looking so desperate and lost that he drew the attention of a student counsellor. He really hopes that this year his best friend won’t be a professor.

Beth is talking about all the different sports programmes that are possible to do beside his study, and before he knows it, they’re walking through the doors of the registration building.

He turns sideways, smiling at her. “Thanks for showing me the way, and you know, all the information.”

Beth grins. “Sure thing! You were looking so lost, I had to help you.”

Patrick tries to laugh at that, because it doesn’t matter yet that he looks out of place. He’s just going to pray that he doesn’t still look like that in two weeks. Beth guides him through the throng of people, trying to find them an open desk to fill out all the forms. Patrick glances around, apologetically grimacing at all the people he hits with his huge bag. He’s about to turn his head, to see where Beth went, when two arms close around his waist.

“Drew! What are you doing here, we were supposed to meet up at the field, bro! I’m gonna take striker if you’re late!” the person attached to the arms yells in his ear.

Patrick hastily turns around, glasses slightly sliding down the bridge of his nose. The person quickly releases him and Patrick pushes his glasses back, taking a good look at him.

And, okay, _wow_. His brain registers everything in stop-motion, from the wide brown eyes, to the grey t-shirt, to the muscled arms, down ‘til the bleached shorts hugging two huge thighs.

“Oh, sorry, man,” the guy says, giving him a quick grin. “Thought you were someone else.” He taps the visor of Patrick’s snapback and just like that, he turns around and disappears into the crowd. Patrick doesn’t know how long he stands there, just looking at the general direction he disappeared in.

He’s snapped out of his daze by Beth, who tugs on the sleeve of his shirt. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asks, holding up a thick stack of papers. “Got you these.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Pat says, following her through the crowd until they find an open table to sit at. “Some guy just started hugging me and mistook me for his friend Drew.”

Beth laughs, “Ah, another desperate freshman who’s trying not to lose their friend?” she asks.

Patrick shrugs. “Don’t think so, he looked older. I think he talked about soccer.”

Beth’s eyes light up with recognition. “Oh, that must’ve been Jonny, then. He’s in my year. Him and his buddy Drew are captain and co-captain of the soccer team. You play, too, right?” she points at the YNWA button on his duffel. Patrick nods. “Well, if you think about joining the team, that’s the guy you need to impress.”

“Well,” Patrick smiles sheepishly, “As you’ve probably already noticed, I’ve got a dazzling personality, so that won’t be a problem.”

 

ii. 

Okay, so, he’s definitely the shortest person here.

Patrick leans forward, glancing up and down the line of freshmen and second years again. The sun is heavily beaming down upon them, and he feels little beads of sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. He straightens his back, reminds himself of the fact that Messi is only 5 foot 7, too, and that clearly didn’t stop him.

Bringing his head up, he looks at the pair of third years, sitting behind a campingset table in front of them. He recognizes one of them as the guy who ran into him about two weeks ago, Jonny. The other one, currently taking the names of everyone in the line, must be Drew, since he’s got blond curls like Patrick. He gives him his full name and student number when Drew looks at him, and watches as he scribbles it down onto the paper.

“Okay, guys,” Jonny says, standing up from his chair and walking closer to the line. He’s wearing black shorts and low socks, his feet laced up in a pair of worn red cleats. “Thank you all for coming, it’s a great turn-out this year. Drew and I are both curious to see what you’ve got. As of right now, there’s only four spots on the team, so that means more than half of you won’t make the first cut. Usually we have another try-out right after Christmas break, because we often deal with injuries and the flu during that time. So don’t be too down if you don’t make it right away, we might need you more than anything during the second half of the season. Any questions?”

Patrick tears his eyes away from where Jonny’s tank top is stretched tight over his abdomen. He clears his throat and shakes his head, along with the other guys in the line.

Drew and Jonny have set out a few drills to get them warmed up and to determine their control of the ball. Patrick pays close attention to the explanation, recognises the exercise, and tunes out everything else. He runs the drills, tries one-touches as much as he can, and keeps a steady jogging pace throughout the first half hour. In his head, he goes over the percentages of penalty stops made by each goalkeeper in the Premier League.

He’s down to Kasper Schmeichel when Jonny blows the whistle again, and the shrill sound makes his feet stop. The guys all gather around him while Drew drags the two goals over.

“Okay,” Jonny says, slapping his hands together. “Looking really good out there, guys, great job. We would’ve done the drills longer but we have to clear the field by six, so for the last thirty minutes we’ll play a five-on-five game. Last chance to show us what you’ve got, make it count.”

Patrick hovers near the side of the group, watching the others divide into two teams and joining the one with four members. There’s a second year, Tom, who’s playing right wing already, so Patrick is put on the left side. Not his ideal spot, but he can deal.

For the first twenty minutes, the game goes pretty even, each side giving it their all and not holding back in their dribbles or tackles. So far, he’s managed to nutmeg one of the other team’s defenders and he even got a shot on goal, but their goalie just nicked it over the crossbar.

But then Jonny and Drew decide to join, and suddenly Patrick’s got Jonny as his striker in the middle. He chases a long ball, manages to keep it in play. After faking left, he goes right, and passes the defender. Jonny’s near the goal, moving away from his defender and Patrick chips a high cross in towards him. It’s just a bit too sharp, and the goalie snatches it out of the air before Jonny’s forehead can collide with the ball.

Patrick’s still cursing at his feet when Drew whistles the end of the game. He’s given assists like those for more than ten years, and right at the time where it matters, he flies it in too sharp.

Drew and Jonny are praising their commitment and Patrick watches a ladybug walking across the laces of his shoe. He registers the four names that are being listed, and he doesn’t hear his own. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he gathers his jacket from the side line and follows the other guys to the dressing room. The lacrosse team are gathering their stuff as well, and he hears someone yelling.

The sound of footsteps comes closer, and a hand closes around his shoulder. “Hey, Timothy. Where are you going, man? Drew and I wanted a chat with the four of you.”

Patrick turns around and meets Jonny’s eyes, giving him a confused look. “My name’s not Timothy,” he says, tiredness and disappointment slipping into his legs, and all he wants right now is to go to sleep and forget about today.

“Yeah, it is,” Jonny says, flashing him the sign-up sheet.

Patrick looks at it, and right there, there’s an illegible scribble that vaguely looks like ‘Patrick’ and, much clearer, ‘Timothy Kane’ behind his student number. “Oh,” he says, softly. “Right, that’s my middle name.”

Jonny grins at him. “You got me worried there, man, you looked so down. Not gonna lie, that kinda insulted me. The other guys would’ve killed for your spot.”

The weariness makes place for happiness, and Patrick gives Jonny a small smile. “But I fucked up that cross towards you.”

Jonny shakes his head, “You didn’t. That cross was great, I was just too slow. You’ve got a decent set of skills, and we’d love to have you on the team for when the season starts next month. What do you say?”

Patrick tries but fails to look away from Jonny’s hopeful brown eyes. “I’m in,” he says. Jonny’s goofy smile makes his own grow even wider.

 

iii. 

He pushes the door of the lecture hall open, blinking at the bright light of the fluorescent tubes above his head. If he could, he’d go back in time four weeks ago and slap his past self in the face before he could sign up for this nine a.m. class.

The sound of his footsteps down the stairs slightly echo in the nearly empty hall, and he slides into one of the seats on the very left of the hall. It’s his usual seat whenever he’s in this room, because it’s not too far away from the professor, but it’s not so close that he needs to answer questions all the time. His laptop hums as he starts it up, and he smiles at a few people he recognises. In total, there aren’t more than fifty people who were strong enough to brave this early morning class. Even the professor looks like he regrets every life decision he made that led up to this, as he starts up the PowerPoint presentation and turns on the mic.

Patrick tries to remember some of the key concepts of the reading he had to do for this class, but as the slides on the screen pass by before his eyes, he recognises next to nothing. He really should try to go to sleep earlier. Last night, Beth came by and they watched the Liverpool game until three in the morning. She’s new to watching soccer but she likes it, and Patrick likes to have someone who watches it with him at those insane hours. Besides, they’ve both got a crush on Adam Lallana so they always have something to talk about.

The professor is just starting on the post-modern industrial economy when the door of the lecture hall opens, and someone softly says: “Jenson?”

Patrick looks up from his screen, and turns around. He meets Jonny’s eyes, his captain slumped against the post of the door.

When their eyes meet, Jonny backtracks. “Oh, sorry—” he starts.

He gets interrupted by the professor, who asks him: “Can I help you, young man?”

Jonny looks away from Patrick, at the professor. “Yeah, sorry. I made a mistake. This isn’t Psych 101, right?”

“No, it’s not. They moved that class to the Frasier building,” the professor answers.

“My bad, sorry for interrupting,” Jonny says, and he backs out of the room, door closing behind him.

Patrick turns back around in his seat, staring at his screen. He can’t lie to himself, his heartrate sped up when he saw Jonny standing there.

He’s been seeing a lot more of him now that the season has started, and he’s definitely also seeing what a great guy Jonny is. Still, Jonny confuses him quite a lot with either Drew or Jenson, whoever that guy is. Jonny knows his name, of course, and always apologizes whenever he mistakes Patrick for someone else. It makes him feel bad, though, because it feels like most of the time, Jonny only wants to talk to him when he mistakes him for someone else.

He knows that Jonny is a third year, and he also knows he shouldn’t get any ideas about him and Jonny becoming real friends. After all, Patrick’s still a freshman who is lost ninety percent of the time. The closest people he has to friends are Beth and the guy from across the hall, whose name he doesn’t know yet.

So, yeah, he doesn’t expect Jonny to know him very well or to like him, even. After all, it’s not Jonny’s fault Patrick has a stupid crush on him. But, still, he just wishes that Jonny will one day start up a conversation with him because he’s _Patrick_ , and not Drew or Jenson.

 

iv. 

Patrick is pretty sure he’s wasted. Completely.

His drink sloshes over the edge of his cup as he leans into Sharpy’s side. Sharpy is his dorm neighbor from across the hall, and he had all but dragged Patrick along to this party, held at one of the frats.

“Dude,” Patrick slurs, fingers clutching onto Sharpy’s waist in effort to keep his balance. “You’re gonna have to carry me home tonight.” He’s pretty sure Sharpy couldn’t hear him over the loud beat of the music, but his brain feels too fuzzy and he barely remembers what he said in the first place.

His drink is all but on the floor by now, so he nudges his friend again. Sharpy’s eyeing up a blonde girl from his Econ class, and he nods dismissively when Patrick says he’s going to get a refill. The neon lights flash and blend together before his eyes as Patrick makes his way towards kitchen.

There are a few kegs on the floor, but he doesn’t feel like having a beer. He moves over towards the counter, steadying himself with one hand against the refrigerator. Refilling his cup with something that vaguely looks like vodka cola, he takes a sip and leans against the refrigerator. Truly, he planned to drink his vodka in peace and maybe sober up his head a bit (tomorrow morning he’ll see the irony of that), but then his favorite song comes on.

He downs the drink, regrets it immediately, and winds his way through a few groups of people. Once he’s on the dance floor, he loosens his limbs and lets his body move along with the beat of the song. It’s crowded, sweaty bodies pushing up against him from time to time, but Patrick doesn’t mind.

His eyes are half-closed by the time two arms slide around his waist, and a chin hooks over his shoulder. “I thought you weren’t gonna come to the party?”

Patrick registers the low, slurring voice and it takes him a while to recognize it as Jonny’s. If he were sober, he’d move away from Jonny’s grasp and turn around. But right now, he can hardly stand up on his own, and he’s horny as fuck. And Jonny is _right here._

Jonny’s hands are splayed over his lower stomach, and Patrick can feel the muscles of Jonny’s chest against his shoulder blades. The height difference between them makes Patrick feel slightly light-headed, but that’s probably just the booze playing tricks on his mind.

He lets himself be pulled in tighter by Jonny, their bodies moving together in sync with the music.

“Jesus, never thought I’d see you in a black polo,” Jonny mumbles in his ear, his breath warm and smelling like alcohol and lime.

Patrick lets his head drop back against Jonny’s shoulder, shivering when he feels Jonny’s hands sliding up under the hem of his polo. “I wear them all the time,” he mutters, head spinning as he closes his eyes.

Jonny’s hands move over the skin of Patrick’s stomach, his fingers curling around Patrick’s hipbones. A small noise escapes Patrick’s lips when he feels the bulge of Jonny’s crotch pressing just above the curve of his ass.

He turns around in Jonny’s arms, and places his hands in Jonny’s neck, tugging him an inch closer. Their lips meet in a sloppy, wet kiss, and Jonny quickly takes control, crowding against Patrick’s body with his own. Patrick mind barely registers the shock, _Jonny wants him, too,_ before he lets himself be pulled in tightly.

Jonny kisses just like he plays soccer, with complete conviction and with nothing held back. Fingers scrambling, Patrick pushes his hands under Jonny’s shirt and slides them across the sweaty dip at the bottom of Jonny’s spine. He grabs onto the flesh tightly, moaning in Jonny’s mouth when Jonny briefly sucks on his tongue.

His eyes fly open when Jonny’s mouth moves downwards, pressing kisses against Patrick’s jaw. The lights are flashing, the music is booming, and people are talking, yelling, and Patrick doesn’t notice any of it. He’s gone. Jonny’s lips feel like they are searing his skin, leaving brand marks all the way down to his shoulder. “Fuck,” Jonny mumbles against Patrick’s neck, saliva making his lips slide against Patrick’s skin. “Never thought you could be like this, Jenson.”

And that. _That_ Patrick does notice, and it feels as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water on his head. He pulls his hands away from Jonny’s back as if they’ve been burned, and steps back.

Confusion spreads across Jonny’s face, which is slightly red and sweaty from the booze and the heat. Before Patrick can notice any type of recognition in Jonny’s eyes, he wills his feet to move and flees away into the crowd. The room is spinning all around him, and he keeps bumping into people as he tries to remember his way to the door.

He finds a wall, leans against it with one shoulder as he moves away from the crowd. There’s a cool draft of air hitting his face, and he pushes himself into that direction.

“Peeks!” Sharpy suddenly pops up next to him. His friend winds his arm around Patrick’s neck and holds him steady. “Been looking for ya, wanna head home?”

Patrick feels a surge of relief as he leans against Sharpy, letting himself be guided through the door and down the grass of the front yard. There are tears threatening to spill down over his cheekbones, and he blinks rapidly, trying to clear his sight.

“Fuck, if I’d known you were a sad drunk I would’ve kept you closer, man. You didn’t bawl all over some girl, right?” Sharpy asks, grinning at him.

Patrick lets his head loll onto Sharpy’s shoulder. He’s not a sad drunk. He’s been drunk before and he’s just a crying drunk. Tonight, though, he’s a sad drunk, because for a blissful few minutes he lived in an alternate reality where the guy he’s in love with actually wanted him back.

But Sharpy doesn’t have to know that. Sharpy doesn’t have to know, that, to Jonny, there’s a handful of people similar to Patrick, all of them better. Sharpy doesn’t have to know that Patrick feels like a redundant version of himself right now.

 

v.

It’s a Thursday night, and he’s staring at the billboard above the door of the movie theatre. The December wind is blowing harshly, and Patrick hugs his jacket tighter around his body. He walks inside, noting that he’s the only person there, except for two employees. It’s logical, though. Any sensible student would be studying for midterms right now, as Patrick should, too.

He walks up to the counter, giving the girl behind the counter a nod and a smile. “One ticket for _Citizen Kane_ , please,” he says, sliding a twenty dollar bill across the wood.

The girl takes the bill and hands him his change, tearing the bottom part of his ticket. “Have fun, it’s a quiet night.”

“That’s the way I like it,” Patrick smiles, sliding the ticket in the back pocket of his jeans. He walks towards the right room, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he makes his way down the steps.

Unlike most people, he prefers to sit halfway down the rows, or even near the bottom, so he can get fully immersed into the movie. He’s about to pick his seat on the third to bottom row, when he notices someone sitting two rows up from him.

Before he can see who it is, the person says, “Drew?”

Patrick recognizes the voice, _of course he does_ , and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Jonny.

“I’m not Drew,” he snaps, sounding harsher than he intended to. Or maybe not, because Jonny hadn’t seemed to remember a single second of what happened between them at that frat party two weeks ago. And yes, it pisses Patrick off. The only thing that’s worse than the guy you’re in love with mistaking you for someone else, is him not remembering any part of it.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Jonny grins, “It’s hard to see in the dark, and Drew said he was maybe going to come tonight, too.”

Patrick presses his lips together, unsure of what to say. He’s been trying to act normal to Jonny, mostly because that’s what Jonny’s been doing to him. Jonny’s still the same around him, pushing him to be better in practise and during the games, trying to joke around with him at team dinners, and nowadays, he even stops in the hallway to chat with Patrick whenever they run into each other. And all the while, Patrick has to try to force his brain not to remember what Jonny’s lips feel and taste like. So yes, he’s on edge.

“Well, like maybe three previous times during this semester, you’ll find that I am _not_ Drew. Sorry to disappoint,” he says.

Jonny looks confused at the snappy tone in Patrick’s voice, but he appears to let it slide, because he picks up his jacket off of the chair next to him. “Wanna sit here? It seems like it’s just us.”

Patrick wishes he could say no, purely out of spite for Jonny being a forgetful drunk ass, but Jonny’s eyes are warm and brown. And that is basically the end of Patrick’s internal struggle. He walks back up the stairs and drops himself in the chair next to Jonny.

With an old screening like this, there’s no trailers and commercials beforehand, so the movie begins quickly. Thirty minutes in, Patrick’s trying to focus on Joseph Cotton’s face instead of Jonny’s presence next to him. Once in a while they make a comment on something, Patrick about a part he likes, while Jonny provides fun facts that really shouldn’t be labelled as fun. But it’s Jonny telling them, and Patrick is pretty much gone for whatever Jonny says, even though he’s still pissed off at him.

During the intermission, Jonny turns to him and asks: “Why are you here by yourself, though? Did your girl bail on you?”

Patrick frowns at Jonny, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. He always slumps down during a movie. “What girl? I don’t have a girl.”

Jonny frowns right back at him. “Then what about Beth? She’s always talking about you. You two break up?”

Patrick snorts. “Gross, no. Beth is just a friend.”

“Really? But, like, you guys are always together during your free time,” Jonny says, looking confused.

“No, we’re not,” Patrick says defensively. “And why do you care? I could ask you the same, why are you here alone?”

Jonny shrugs. “I don’t know, I just wanted to escape studying for midterms for a bit. With whom should I be here, anyway?” he asks.

Patrick feels the frustration building up, his earlier anger at Jonny still hasn’t simmered away. He twists his fingers together in his lap, and snaps: “Oh, I don’t know, what about Jenson?”

Jonny visibly pulls back a little, his cheeks tainting pink. “What do you know about Jenson? Who told you?” he asks, looking a bit harried. “No one’s supposed to know, Pat, so who told you about us?” Jonny’s voice turns hard at the end of his sentence.

“No one had to!” Patrick blurts, “But you kept mistaking me for Jenson a while back, and you, you—” He trails off, hesitating.

“I, what?” Jonny asks, his eyes firmly locked with Patrick’s.

“You!” Patrick starts, his voice hitching with the loud tone. He clears his throat and looks away from Jonny when he mumbles, “You kissed me at that party two weeks ago, and after a while, like ten minutes, you called me Jenson.”

He notices Jonny’s sharp intake of breath, and he keeps his eyes firmly locked on his shoes. They’re slightly worn and the sole is letting loose near his heel. The second part of the movie has started, but Patrick doesn’t lift his eyes to watch.

Jonny breaks the silence after a few minutes, muttering: “Fuck.” A hand closes around Patrick’s shoulder and he looks up, meeting Jonny’s eyes. “I’m sorry that I confused you for someone else,” Jonny says. “It’s just, I was probably drunk off my ass to even consider kissing a guy at a party, and I’m really sorry, Pat. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Patrick sees the genuine hurt and apology in Jonny’s eyes, and it makes his own eyes sting. Jonny regrets kissing him, of course. He was drunk, so drunk that he kissed a guy in public and so drunk that he kissed Patrick. Jonny would never intentionally go for him, and he really, _really_ can’t be around Jonny while he’s having this breakdown.

“I-I gotta go,” he mutters, fingers closing around his jacket. He stands up abruptly from his seat, feet moving towards the stairs.

“Pat,” Jonny calls after him. “I’m sorry for kissing you! I would never have done it if I were sober, you gotta know that.”

Patrick takes the stairs by twos, feeling his lower lip wobble. Jonny says his name again, and at the top of the stairs, Patrick turns around and faces him. Jonny has stood up from his chair as well, a hurt expression on his face.

“Have you asked yourself yet why I let you kiss me so long in the first place?” he asks. Jonny’s eyes widen, and Patrick continues, because every semblance of friendship they had is already blown to pieces, anyway. “The only mistake here is that I fell for a guy who can’t even tell me apart from the guy he’s dating. So don’t fucking worry about it.”

He takes the last few steps towards the door of the room. “Good luck on your midterms, and merry fucking Christmas, Jonny.”

 

\+ 1 time he definitely didn’t 

“I’m not overreacting, though, am I?” Sharpy asks, flopping down dramatically on Patrick’s bed.

“Dude.” Patrick frowns at all of his folded clothing underneath Sharpy.

“I mean, I know we’ve only been dating for a few weeks, but it just feels right, you know? And Abby gets along great with my mom, they even skype together already. This girl could be _the_ girl, Pat, so I don’t want to fuck it up by taking her to meet my family too soon.”

“Sharpy,” Patrick sighs, “Abby wants to go. You want her to go. Your family wants to meet her. So what’s the problem here, man? Just enjoy it and spend a nice Christmas break with her, show her that you’re not always a douchebag.”

“Hey,” Sharpy protests, lazily kicking at Patrick’s leg. “But I guess you’re right. She told me to be packed and downstairs by four, so I should get going, anyway.”

“Don’t come back all Canadian and weird again, like you were at the beginning of the semester,” Patrick says, but he lets himself be tugged into a bear hug by his friend.

“You gonna be okay, Peeksy? Don’t think too much about beautiful Canadian boys who break your heart, okay?” Sharpy says, ruffling Patrick’s hair when he pulls back.

“I’ll try my hardest not to,” Patrick deadpans, ignoring the jab of hurt in his chest. “Now, get going, before Abby drives off without you.”

Sharpy gives him one last grin before leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoes on the empty floor, most of the students already cleared out this morning.

Patrick goes back to his folded clothes on the bed, placing them in his duffel bag. He glances at the picture frames, smiling. He’ll never admit it to them again, after the grief they gave him the first time, but he’s missed his sisters quite a lot.

Filling up his bag with some souvenirs for his family, he closes the zipper and drops the bag next to his bed. He’s about to look at his phone to check the timetable alarm of the bus departures again, when someone loudly bangs on his door.

Rolling his eyes, Patrick walks over to the door. “Sharpy, I swear to God—”

He swings the door open and the rest of the sentence dies in his throat.

Jonny is standing across from him, his cheeks and lips red from the cold. He’s breathing fast, like he ran all the way across campus. From where Jonny’s dorm is, Patrick assumes he has.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, feeling unnerved by the intense look in Jonny’s eyes.

“I thought you’d left, but I ran into Sharpy. He told me to stop fucking around and kiss you already. Amongst some other unfriendly stuff.”

Patrick swallows hard, “Why would he say something like that? It’s not like you want to, right? You want to kiss someone like Jenson,” he says it matter-of-factly, but it hurts to get the words out.

“No, I don’t, Pat,” Jonny says, stepping further into the room and closer to Patrick. “Jenson and I, we didn’t have anything in common. He was nice, but throughout the time we were together, I wanted him to be something else. Someone else.”

“Who?” Patrick asks. “You, of course,” Jonny lets go of a breath. “Your blue eyes, and your fucking curls, they were driving me crazy. I could barely concentrate for weeks.” He sounds so offended, Patrick almost thinks Jonny’s insulting him.

“But I thought you were straight,” Jonny continues, “And you were kinda distant towards me. So I guess I just dated and hung around with knock-off versions of you to make up for it.”

Patrick cracks a small smile. “Better not let Drew hear that.”

Jonny smiles back, tentatively reaching up his hand to wind one of Patrick’s curls around his index-finger. “When you told me, that night in the cinema, that you let me kiss you because you wanted me to, it really fucked me up. I still regret it, I wish I could’ve been sober and I wish I could’ve known that it was you.” Jonny takes another step closer and brings up his other hand, framing Patrick’s face gently.

“Why?” Patrick mutters, feeling stupidly hopeful.

“Because I wanted to be fully aware of when I _would_ get you to like me enough to wanna kiss me,” Jonny says.

Patrick smiles, standing up on the tips of his toes. “Here’s to second chances, I guess,” he says, before closing the distance between them.

And this time, it’s _good_.

Jonny’s lips are warm and soft against his, the cold tip of his nose pressing into Patrick’s cheek. Goosebumps break out over Patrick’s skin as Jonny rubs the pads of his thumbs along Patrick’s cheekbones.

He lets Jonny deepen the kiss, opening his mouth to allow Jonny’s tongue to slide along his own. It’s overwhelming like this, when he can fully notice everything that’s happening. This time, there is no alcohol tainting and affecting his senses. Tomorrow morning he won’t have to wonder whether it really happened, or if it was all just a dream.

Patrick pushes himself against Jonny’s chest, sighing happily when Jonny winds his arms tightly around his waist. He’s probably imagining it, but he can almost feel Jonny’s heart beating through the thick fabric of his winter coat.

They kiss and touch until Patrick’s phone starts buzzing, indicating that he’s supposed to go catch his bus. He pulls back reluctantly out of Jonny’s grasp, already loving the bright brown of Jonny’s eyes when he opens them again.

“You couldn’t have done this earlier?” He smiles. “Now we can’t see each other for another four weeks.”

“Sorry about that,” Jonny smiles, bending down and kissing Patrick lightly on the lips. “Maybe you still need those four weeks to determine whether you’d want a forgetful guy like me to be your boyfriend.”

Patrick grins. “I’ll let you know. Walk me to the bus?”

Jonny nods. “That’s the least I can do,” he says, walking towards the bed. He bends down and hoists Patrick’s duffel bag over his shoulder with a groan. “Jesus, what have you got in there, a small army?”

“Souvenirs for very demanding sisters,” Patrick explains, letting Jonny walk through the door first, and locking it behind him.

They make out like young teenagers in the elevator, both of their cheeks flaming when they walk through the foyer. The cold air outside bites at Patrick’s cheeks and he presses his face against Jonny’s shoulder.

There are a few other students waiting at the bus stop, and Patrick sees the bus nearing at the end of the street.

“So,” Jonny says, holding onto the strap of the duffel bag. “Keep me posted on your decision making progress during the break. Unless you deliberately want to keep me in the dark for four weeks because you’re evil. I’d still be cool with an evil boyfriend, just so you know.”

The bus stops a few inches from the curve, a loud gush of air escaping from the vent. The door opens and the students climb the small stairs.

“I’ll see you in four weeks,” Patrick smiles, lifting his chin.

Jonny grins and bends down to kiss him on the lips. “Four weeks,” he repeats.

Patrick takes his bag from Jonny and smiles at him. He turns around and gets on the bus, putting his bag on the seat by the aisle. Letting himself sink down on the seat by the window, he waves at Jonny.

Jonny waves back, a confused look on his face when Patrick blows his warm breath on the window. With his index-finger, he writes _BYE BF_ on the fogged up part of the glass.

The last thing he sees before the bus pulls away, is the bright smile spreading across Jonny’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Go look at [Adam Lallana](http://jordiebenn.tumblr.com/post/134220123462/its-true-time-flies-and-it-goes-even-quicker) now, because he's precious. 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.incorrectblackhawksquotes.tumblr.com), where I cry about 1988 and make up incorrect quotes about Blackhawks players.
> 
> Feedback is lovingly drooled upon!


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